Heart my Soul Speak
by Missmione potter
Summary: She welcomed her future and cherished her heritage. Somewhere deep inside she knew her mate would be waiting for her. Their meeting was imminent. It seemed as if the very air knew what was about to transpire.
1. My Heart Fly to your Service

**Heart My Soul Speak**

**AN:** I don't own any of the characters! I'm replacing this chapter with an edited version! Thank you to my beta Falling Thunderbolt!

_Hear my soul speak:  
The very instant that I saw you, did  
My heart fly to your service._

_The Tempest, 3.1_

_Shakespeare_

**Chapter 1**

It had been but four years since her grand-mère explained the complexities of what it meant to be a Veela. She could still smell the lavender in the air, instantly taking her back to that warm summer night. Grand-mère had taken advantage of the moonlight and divulged many secrets, told many tales, and planted the seed of hope in Fleur's heart. She had been but a young girl then, a young girl that heard about the legend of the Veela mate: that one person destined to be her soul mate for the rest of her life. Grand-mère mentioned that the moment when she found that special person would be magical. Time would stop, her lungs would cease to breathe, their magic would call out to each other in such a way that it'd impossible to ignore. Her very blood would quake with anticipation. Her fate would be sealed the second she laid eyes on her mate. Their futures would be forever tied as soon as they kissed. And not even death would part them after they completed the bond.

At the tender age of thirteen these complexities seemed more frightening than magical. Even so, she dreamed. Now at seventeen not all of the fear had vanished; but she welcomed her future and cherished her heritage. Somewhere deep inside she knew her mate would be waiting for her. Their meeting was imminent. It seemed as if the very air knew what was about to transpire.

-o-

As the enchanted Beauxbatons carriage swayed in the sky, her very soul wanted to escape; she was almost positive that her magic was hurrying the journey. Someone awaited her; she could smell it, feel it and almost see it. Until this day she hadn't put much stock in her grandmother's tales, thinking diluted Veela blood wouldn't feel such a strong pull—but how wrong she'd been. Her magic flowed out of her body and traveled to whoever it was that waited for her.

Only a few moments later the carriage landed with a resounding thud. Forgetting her poise and composure Fleur attempted a quick exit through the door, only to have her path blocked by Madam Maxime's large frame.

"Are 'ou in a 'urry?" asked the giant woman, a gentle smile grazing her lips.

Fleur could only blush and lower her gaze, much to the amusement of the giant headmistress.

"Je suis desole," replied Fleur taking a few steps back.

The soft smile never left the headmistress' lips; her large hand pushed the carriage door open, allowing a chilly Scottish breeze to cool the pale blue silk of the Beauxbatons' uniforms.

"Mademoiselles, 'emember 'oo you zeprezent," she said leading the entourage.

The instant Fleur touched solid ground her magic sought out her future mate. Her heart fluttered, her breath hitched, her usually flawless composure faltered. Some else's magic danced around her body, permeating her skin.

Her blue eyes immediately searched the sea of black Hogwarts robes; her mate's essence demanded her attention, the calling was too strong, she couldn't hide, she couldn't ignore it.

Like a Muggle compass she trusted her heritage to guide her: the Veela in her pointed straight to a group of black-robed students, venturing a second glace she noticed the red and gold trims on their uniforms. In the middle of that group she could see the outline of a girl being held up by two identical red-headed boys. Fleur had never seen them before, but even she could tell that their somber expressions seemed out of place.

The girl seemed weak, barely managing to stay upright. Even in her weaken state her inquisitive brown eyes seemed to be scanning the crowd, searching for something or someone. Fleur took this opportunity to take in the brunette; she was taken aback by the sight. The girl was beautiful. Her face was delicate with soft features; warm brown eyes that sparkled with curiosity, and wild brown curls swaying in the breeze.

_You are beautiful ma cherie,_ thought Fleur.

Her view was suddenly obstructed by two boys speaking to her mate: one of them—the one with black hair—laid his hand on the brunette's forehead as if to check for a temperature. Distress and worry were obvious in their postures.

Their hushed whispers carried the short distance over to her; she heard them asking questions about her wellbeing and even a considering trip to the infirmary. But the girl in question ignored their queries, instead her brown eyes were now fixated on Fleur.

Time slowed to a snail's pace, brown met blue and both women were lost to the world. Magic rippled through the students and professors. It was almost as if it could talk, playful swirls of raw power teased both girls, drawing out soft blushes and shy smiles.

On their own accord Fleur's feet began to move, breaking away from the Beauxbatons delegation, guiding her straight to the blushing girl.

"Ezcusze moi," she whispered politely, squeezing past the two younger boys. She never saw their questioning stares, or how four hands immediately reached for wands.

"Mon coure," she whispered reaching for the young girl's hand, her very soul aching to touch her.

The two identical red-headed boys, suspicious of her, tried to tuck their charge safely behind them—but the girl wouldn't allow it, instead taking a shaky step forward she reached for Fleur's outstretched hand.

"Hello," said the girl, her eyes never leaving the blonde's. "What's happening?" she asked. There was no need to elaborate; the French witch knew exactly what she meant

"Ma cherie, I'm Fleur," replied the French girl, a soft smile tugging at her lips. The younger witch wavered a bit: Fleur took this opportunity to snake an arm around her waist, holding up much of her weight, "I'll tell you everything, come with me ma peite."

"Hermione, wait," called one of the boys. If Fleur had bothered to look back, she would've seen the lightning-bolt scar on the boy's forehead. But she had other matters to tend to; for now Hermione's friends could wait.

" 'ermione," whispered the blonde, leading the weak girl to the Beauxbatons entourage. _It's a lovely name_, she thought to herself.

The French witches had observed the entire exchange with interest. As soon as it became apparent that Fleur was heading in their direction they immediately opened up their ranks and just as quickly hid the two arrivals from view.

Fleur looked up to where Madame Maxime was conversing with the Hogwarts Headmaster, briefly meeting Dumbledore's twinkling eyes. If the professors had noticed her short absence neither seemed to mind, as they carried on their conversation.

" 'ermione," Fleur whispered, prompting Hermione to meet her blue eyes, "lean on me ma petite, we'll get you well soon, I promise."

**AN:** Please leave a review and let me know what you think!


	2. Who ever loved

**Heart my Soul Speak**

**AN: I don't own Harry Potter! Thank you to my wonderful beta Falling Thurderbolt! Please take some time to leave a review. **

_Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?_

_As You Like It, 3.5_

_Shakespeare_

**Chapter two**

It felt like a dream, a little hazy around the edges and utterly impossible to believe—yet here she was, surrounded by a forest of pale blue silk and excited French chatter. She would've laughed at her predicament if it weren't for the all-consuming headache and nausea that plagued her. In fact, if it weren't for Fleur's strong arms supporting her, she would've lost her battle against gravity long ago. Something was wrong, of that she was sure.

"Fleur?" she called gently; her soft request expertly masked by the lively conversations going around them.

"Oui ma petite puce?" smiled the blond.

"I don't understand what's happening," she whispered desperately. "If it had been anyone else that swept me away from Harry and Ronald I'd have cursed you by now. I'm trying to understand why it is that I trust you, why I feel safe with you. It's like I've met you before—or rather my magic knows you from long ago; I'm not even certain if that even makes sense. Please, Fleur, what's happening? Why did I stop breathing when I saw you?"

"Shh 'ermione, I'll tell you everyzing in a moment," replied the French witch, adjusting her grip on Hermione's waist, "but first I must find you somew'ere to rest, preferably a bed."

A sudden wave of dizziness killed whatever retort was about to leave the brunette's lips. The firm stone floor appeared to be swaying: nausea hit her, making her hold on to the blonde witch to maintain her balance.

" 'ermione, what's is the matter?" asked Fleur.

"I think I need to go to the hospital wing: something is awfully wrong," replied Hermione, trying to pull away.

"I'll take you zere, let me 'elp you." The brunette witch nodded weakly, mumbling directions to the infirmary.

Madame Pomfrey seemed surprised to see the two girls approaching, especially since one of the foreign students was carrying Hermione Granger.

"Put her on a bed dear girl," ordered the nurse. "Tell me what happened."

It was a losing battle she was fighting. Her body felt heavier than ever before, her knees buckling under her weight—Fleur's grip tightening, breaking her impending fall. As the last tendrils of consciousness escaped her she heard Madame Pomfrey's panicked voice.

"What happened?" demanded the nurse once again, helping Fleur with the young Gryffindor.

"There's nozing wrong with her Madame," started the young Veela, only to be interrupted by the arrival of Headmaster Dumbledore and his deputy, Professor McGonagall.

"Whatever do you mean? She just fainted!" exclaimed the older woman, ignoring the two professors.

"Poppy, I think it's best to let Miss Delacour explain, as I foresee Miss Granger's constant presence in your ward this term," Dumbledore said, conjuring four chairs. His ancient face held no anger or concern; he looked rather amused. With a kind smile he urged Fleur to continue.

Fleur returned the gesture, grateful for his presence, "Az I was sayin' zere's nozing wrong with 'ermione. You see, somezing unexpected 'appened zis day," she took Hermione's hand in hers, "I found my mate."

"I'm part Veela, Madame, and when my magic found 'ers we started, 'ow do you say… ze bond." Poppy looked at her in shock.

"But that's impossible! There hasn't been one in centuries," mumbled the nurse, shaking her head.

"I don' know 'ow familiar you are wiz veela magic, but I can assure you zis vas out of my control. When ze bond began 'Ermione's magic ezhauztted itself," she paused, struggling with the language, " 'Ermione is merely restin'."

"What Miss Delacour is saying is true, I could feel their magic dancing when the carriage arrived," Dumbledore said, clearly excited. "You see when a Veela bond is made, especially with a non-Veela partner, the witch or wizard will experience magical exhaustion. Not only that," he stood from his chair, "Miss Granger's magic will protect Miss Delacour until the bond is completed. Any injury or ill that Miss Delacour suffers will manifest on Hermione."

"What are you saying Albus?" interrupted Minerva, lines of worry etched on her face. "Shouldn't Miss Granger have a choice?"

"But she did and she still does Madame," replied Fleur, "it wasn't just my 'eritage selecting a mate, she accepted; she willingly came wiz me, 'er magic accepted me az a partner, az a mate."

"What if Miss Delacour is chosen as champion for her school—the tasks are incredibly dangerous. Isn't it possible for them to just complete the bond now?" asked McGonagall.

"Ah Minerva, it isn't as simple as that," replied Dumbledore looking nervous for the first time.

"For ze bond to be completed we'd 'ave to," whispered Fleur, a deep blush spreading over her face, "we'd 'ave to faire l'amour, 'ow you say…"

"They'd have to make love to seal the bond," supplied the stony faced nurse.

Professor McGonagall had the decency to look embarrassed, but the circumstances were too serious, and the danger was legitimate. She'd have time for modesty barrassed later; right now her concern outweighed her embarrassment. "But they're just children!"

"That's correct Poppy," Albus said, ignoring his Deputy's cry. "While Veelas call it a mate, it is known by many names: one of which is a soul bond," he mentioned, waving his wand over Hermione's sleeping form, "a powerful, ancient magic. This power doesn't recognize age; it just finds two pieces of a whole and tries to unite them."

A softly muttered spell later, and a myriad of colored swirls showered out of his wand. "Miss Delacour is correct: there's nothing wrong with Miss Granger. With the exception of feeling faint and weak she should fare well, and even that in time will pass. Poppy, I think a pepper up potion is in order." The nurse quickly left in search of the potion.

"Miss Delacour, your classmates are touring the castle. Rest assured that your absence was not noticed by anyone other than me, but I do believe a conversation with your headmistress will prove beneficial," Albus said, taking the vial from Madame Pomfrey's hands. "If you could lift her head a bit," he requested to no one in particular.

But when professor McGonagall took to the task, he stopped her. "If you don't mind Minerva, I believe Fleur will need the practice." The young girl smiled at him and gently took over the Transfiguration teacher's task.

It was a moment later that steam shot out of Hermione's ears and brown eyes fluttered open.

"Headmaster?" she questioned. "What happened?" Her body protested when she tried to sit, her spinning head quickly reminded her of the reason she was here to begin with.

"Miss Delacour," began the headmaster, "dinner won't be served for another two hours. I'll inform Madame Maxime that you are looking after of some _family matters_." He smiled, "Poppy, Minerva I do believe the girls are in need of a private chat."

With Dumbledore's parting words the three adults made their way out of the hospital wing, Professor McGonagall lingering by the exit. "Miss Granger, since our guest has missed the tour of the castle, I would appreciate if you could act as a guide during her stay."

Closing the doors behind her Minerva McGonagall turned her attention to the headmaster. "Albus, do you think it's prudent to leave them alone? With no explanation for Miss Granger?"

"Ah, don't forget that their souls are binding as we speak: who better to explain to Hermione, than her life-long mate?"

-o-

"Fleur?" called the brunette.

"I promised you I'd tell you everyzing," replied the blonde, helping Hermione to her feet.

"Can we go outside? I need some air," Hermione asked, unconsciously taking Fleur's hand as she led them out of the infirmary, through the hallways, and finally to the edge of the Black Lake. They walked in silence, both mentally preparing for their conversation.

"What is happening to me?" she began.

Fleur gave Hermione's hand one last squeeze before letting go. "My granmozer is a Veela. But I never zought that my diluted Veela blood would be so strong. You see if a Veela is fortunate, she will find 'er mate."

"Am I yours?" asked Hermione, looking off into the vast lake.

"You are if you wish to be," replied Fleur. "It's a bond, for all of our lives."

The young Gryffindor turned to look at the Veela. "How does this bond work?"

"According to legend our souls were one at some point, at birth zey zeparted into two, and we've been blessed to 'ave found each ozer," she paused, taking a step closer to the brunette. "My magic recognized yours and yours mine, zat why you feel like you've met me before."

Hermione was fascinated by the tale. "Is this something that occurs frequently then?"

"Oh non, it does not, zere 'asn't been a completed bond in many century," the blonde smiled sadly.

"What happens next Fleur?" asked the younger girl.

"If it is your wish to be my mate, we'd kiss," both blushed at this hushed confession.

"And if I do not?" she asked, adverting her eyes from the French witch.

"Our lives are connected 'ermione; even if you said no, I'd still be your friend," continued the blonde.

Hermione stayed quiet for a long while, thinking about all the possibilities and implications. Surprisingly, the fact that Fleur was another female was the least of her concerns. She definitely felt something for the other girl, her magic had already said yes. Normally this would have been when she retired to the library, but that wasn't a possibility.

"How does it work?" she asked more to herself.

Fleur hopefully looked up, "First your magic accepts me, zen your 'eart, and finally your mind."

"Usually it's zen zat we'd kiss," Fleur looked down to her feet, "zat mon coure would bind us, even if later you decided… I'd always 'ave you in my life."

The young brunette couldn't help but smile at Fleur shy demeanor. "Then?"

"We build a relationship," even in the darkening light Hermione saw the blush on the Veela's face, "and when we're both sure, we'd complete ze bond."

"How is that done?" Hermione asked with genuine curiosity.

"We'd make love 'Ermione, underneath a full moon, surrounded by circle of flowers," whispered Fleur, moving incredibly close to Hermione.

"Will I change?" asked the brunette, a rose blush powdering her face.

"You will feel as you do now until we kiss," she paused taking Hermione's hand in hers, "your magic will protect me until ze bond is finished, any illness and injury I experience will manifest on you."

"But you'll be protected by ze 'ouse of Delacour, the first stage of the bond will leave you extremely vulnerable. I'd be with you at all times," Fleur promised.

"Zere are many who would like to prevent our bonding," she added as an afterthought.

"Why?" asked Hermione.

Fleur lifted the younger girl's hand to her lips. "We'd be incredibly powerful, mon amour."

"Can this bond ever break?" she asked.

"Non, after it's completed it cannot be broken," replied the blonde.

Silence filled the air. With her bottom lip firmly trapped by her teeth, Hermione looked up at Fleur. "Do we have time?"

An amused chuckle escaped the blonde's mouth, "You have all the time you need."

Hermione spent the next fifteen minutes in quiet thought, still holding Fleur's hand. Her brain was experiencing sensory overload, going over every bit of information she'd received today. Being a highly logical person, she was unaccustomed to making decisions on whims or impulses; she weighed the advantages and disadvantages. But for the first time in her fifteen years of life it wasn't just her mind voicing an opinion. Her magic had accepted the Veela, of that she was sure: her heart ached at the possibility of denying the bond. Logic wouldn't help her in this circumstance.

"Alright," she whispered with a sigh. Fleur continued to look at the ground, not having heard her.

"Fleur," she called. The blonde turned towards Hermione.

"Okay."

**R&amp;R!**


	3. What We May Be

**Heart my Soul Speak**

**AN:** The characters don't belong to me; I'm just borrowing them for a _while! Thank you to my wonderful beta Falling Thunderbolt!_

_We know what we are, but know not what we may be._

_Shakespeare_

**Chapter 3**

It was undeniable: Fleur had to be the most beautiful being she'd ever seen; but when she smiled she was radiant. Her smile went all the way up to her eyes, crinkling the corners. Just to know that she was the reason for such happiness was amazing. If there was ever a doubt left in her heart, it was gone.

The blonde witch's smile only grew wider as she undid the first two buttons of her uniform, delicately withdrawing a silver pendant from around her neck.

"Zis will protect you 'ermione," she said fumbling with the clasp.

"Fleur, I don't need anything," Hermione began, but Fleur's blue gaze quickly halted further comment.

"Non, you must! See you are to be under ze protection of my family now. Zis necklace will have to suffice until I can write to maman." The pendant caught the soft light of the moon.

"It 'as the Delacour crest," she pointed at the engraving, "zis will keep you safe. If someone should attempt to 'arm you my family could retaliate. Please 'ermione, 'umor me."

"It's beautiful," said Hermione, running a finger over the cool metal.

"Will you wear it?" Fleur asked.

"I will," she replied quietly.

"What about you? How will you be safe?" Hermione questioned, lifting her hair out of the way and allowing Fleur to fasten the necklace.

"Don't worry about me, I will be safe enough," replied the blonde, placing the palm of her hand on the small bit of exposed neck, making Hermione's skin tingle under the delicate touch.

"I don't know if I'm ready to kiss you," mentioned Hermione, "but I'm certain that I don't want to be away from you."

To her surprise she felt Fleur wrap her arms around her shoulders. "We 'ave time ma cherie, and we don't 'ave to be away."

In the short space of a few hours Hermione's life had drastically changed: this morning she was concerned about the welfare of house elves and right now the sole focus of her thoughts was the blonde holding her. There were still many questions to be asked, far more was unknown than known, but like Fleur had said, they had time. It was a new experience to have her mind silenced by her heart, but she welcomed it. The quiet let her concentrate on what she felt.

"What happens now?" she asked, still tucked into the embrace.

"I must write to maman and gran-mere; I must also speak to ze Madame, but for now we 'ave a feast to attend," replied the blonde, breaking the embrace.

"You also have two boys running desperately around the castle in search of you Miss Granger." The Scottish accent was unmistakable. "I fear that if you are gone for any longer, your absence will be notice by more than Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall said as she stepped into their line of sight.

"Miss Delacour, I believe Madame Maxime is waiting for you at your carriage." It was clearly obvious that McGonagall didn't fully approve of whatever it was they had. "And I do hope this doesn't become a habit," she added as an after thought

"I'll see you at ze feast ma petite." Soft lips brushed a featherlike kiss on Hermione's cheek, before Fleur went running in the direction of her carriage.

The sudden loss of contact was enough to make her dizzy. All the blood that had rushed to her face with the professor's arrival plummeted to her feet.

It was as if Fleur took the magic of their moment when she left. All the doubts and worries her mind had expertly repressed burst out and flowed into the open, waiting on her to be dissected and analyzed. The fact that McGonagall stood but a few meters away was lost on her, until she felt a hand holding her steady.

"Miss Granger, are you alright?" asked her favorite professor.

How could a simple question hold so much meaning? She'd been asked those same three words several times throughout the day—each time she had assured whoever asked that, yes, she was fine: even if it'd been a lie. But right now, she didn't have the strength to put up another front, another facade.

Surely Professor McGonagall inquired about her health, but the only answer she could provide was one from her heart. Fleur Delacour had managed to instill her heart with hope and dread all at the same time.

_What would her parents say?_

_What would Harry and Ron think?_

This bond meant more commitment than a marriage and there she stood in front of the Black Lake whispering a simple "okay"; discussing her future like she discussed the weather over tea.

Was her mind so far gone?

Did she fall and injure her head?

No, that couldn't be; she prided her intellect, her logic, her rationalized way of thinking. But then why did her faculties fail her the minute she noticed a pretty French witch?

But if this was just a mistake, a very rare lapse in judgment—why then, did it feel so right?

She had a million other questions to ask that girl: the same girl she'd barely met a few hours ago, the same girl who promised to protect her, the same girl who promised her a future. She had a million questions that sought answers. Maybe it was the hypnotizing blue eyes staring at her, or her porcelain soft skin touching her, maybe the blonde hair temporarily blinded her. There were too many maybes, too many questions, too many risks.

There it was, the root of her problems: too many risks. Was she willing to risk so much for Fleur?

Any sailor would've been proud at the insults she hurled at the own brain. She cursed her mind, for it could not come up with a single excuse that could give her an escape route. In her mind, every reason was easily refuted. Fleur Delacour had achieved the impossible; she created chaos in what was once a highly organized mind.

"Hermione," there was a tinge of panic in the old professor's voice, "are you alright? Should I send for Poppy?"

Was she aright? What did McGonagall mean by that—was she inquiring about her health or her emotional wellbeing?

Unfortunately, the answer to that question couldn't be found in her trusted tomes, or in a lesson or a test; there was no reference or framework to guide her. Like Fleur had said she had her magic, her heart, and her mind. If Hermione Granger were a democracy Fleur would've won the elections. But she was not, and while her mind clung to every scrap of rational thought it could muster, her heart and magic threw caution to wind and urged her to chase after the girl.

Finally focusing on her professor she managed to choke a reply. "I don't know," she said, her words filled with emotion.

"Let's go inside, I promised Mr. Potter I'd deliver you a few minutes before the feast." Hermione felt her feet moving away from the lake as Professor McGonagall led her towards the castle.

"Hermione, I might not fully understand what has happened tonight, but the necklace hanging around your neck and the expression you had barely five minutes ago, tell me a different story than what I'm seeing right now," the older woman said as she brought them to a stop.

"I don't know how to process all this," confessed Hermione, "when she was by me it made sense."

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to." Her kind eyes shone with understanding, "I'm certain that Miss Delacour would agree."

"What about my parents, professor? Harry? Ron?" she asked in tears.

"I don't know your parents Hermione, but Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley are your friends and they will accept whatever it is you choose. There comes a point when all Muggleborns must make a difficult decision: you must decide to which world you belong. Accepting your current predicament will cement you here; it'll be difficult for Muggles to understand, of that I'm sure. But my dear girl, don't forget that you have a family here too." She gave her favorite pupil one of her very rare smiles.

"What am I supposed to do?" asked the girl.

"You are supposed to follow your heart Miss Granger: it will never lead you astray." With those final words they walked into the castle.

R&amp;R!


	4. Chapter 4

**Heart My Soul Speak**

AN: I don't own any of the characters! Thank you for all the reviews!

* * *

Our doubts are traitors,  
and make us lose the good we oft might win,

By fearing to attempt.

Measure for Measure, 1.4

Shakespeare

* * *

**Chapter 4**

The Great Hall bustled with activity and excited chatter. Students' voices easily carrying into the hallway and cloaking the whole of Hogwarts with feeling of palpable anticipation. Unfortunately Hermione did not share in the merry feeling. Her internal anxiety and turmoil were much too strong to join in the unanimous excitement.

As McGonagall led her through the old stone corridors her thoughts fell on the structure itself. The first time she'd seen Hogwarts she'd been rendered speechless by the sight, and even years later her awe and amazement hadn't faded.

Hermione had always associated Hogwarts with a sense of safety, comfort and belonging, but at this moment the old castle she called home felt confining and foreign. A gentle hand pulled her out of her thoughts. Bringing them to a stop at the entrance to the Great Hall Professor McGonagall said, "Miss Granger, I suggest you find your seat, the feast is due to begin soon."

Long gone were the kind words exchanged between the two not even ten minutes earlier. The motherly tone the professor had used was replaced by professionalism. Giving a quick nod in acknowledgement she allowed herself a moment longer to observe the professor walk away. But before her mind took her hostage once more, she quickly made her way to the Gryffindor table.

Spotting Ron and Harry, Hermione couldn't hide the smile that tugged at her lips. Both wizards so deeply engrossed in conversation, didn't notice her approach. Taking advantage of their ignorance she observed the stark contrast between the messy mop of black hair sitting next to the vibrant orange, she found the familiar sight comforting, lifting a little of the weight she felt on her chest.

"Hello," she greeted quietly claiming the open seat next to Harry Potter.

"Mione," replied boy, "where have you been? What happened?" he asked, his face flashing a mixture of relief and concern.

"Yeah, we looked all over the castle," added Ron, "even went in the library."

True to form, Ron Weasley, had no qualms in voicing his dismay at the thought of stepping foot in her sanctuary. Any other time she would've argued with the redhead, feeling offended at his remark. But tonight was different. She had a new perspective; a thoughtless comment from Ron couldn't damper her state. There were bigger matters that required her attention. Instead she opted for basking in the normalcy of this moment. Even when her life seemed to be spiraling out of control, she could always count on Ron and Harry. Ron would most likely inadvertedly say something offensive and tactless, while Harry tried to appease both his mates before the inevitable row broke in the middle of the Great Hall.

"I'll tell you later," she whispered to them, "tonight after everyone's gone to bed," both wizards quickly agreed and resumed their previous conversation.

She heard another boy calling her name from somewhere further down the table. Her brown eyes scanned the row of black robes, until she came upon two sets of identical blue eyes. Try as she could, it was impossible to tell Fred and George apart. Thankfully Dumbledore chose that moment to commence his speech, interrupting any reply she might've had.

The old wizard stood in front of the students wearing a fancy set of bright blue robes and his customary half moon spectacles. By no means was Albus Dumbledore a large man, nor did he look physically formidable, but his power was undeniably there, felt by all that looked upon him. His wrinkled face held an impossible amount of wisdom and knowledge; yet his eyes, his blue twinkling eyes, shaved years off the ancient man.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," began the Headmaster, "like I've mentioned at the beginning of term, Hogwarts has the great honor of hosting an event like no other before; the Triwizard Tournament," loud clapping and cheering filled the ancient hall.

"Our guests arrived earlier today and I know each and every one of you will play the part of gracious host and make their stay here a pleasant one," he continued.

Taking a few steps away for his golden podium he gestured at the doors. With his voice rising considerably he announced the first school, "please join me in welcoming the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and their Headmistress Madame Maxime," not even a second after his announcement the doors to the Great Hall opened dramatically.

Two neat rows of students entered, their heels clicking rhythmically on the stone floors. A small cloud of enchanted butterflies preceded them, and the scent of lavender bathed the hall. They all were beautiful beyond belief, a fact that did not go unnoticed by the Hogwarts male population. The great majority of them looked on with lust and desire, some unfortunate few actually drooled.

Hermione never even noticed that most, if not all the students had shifted their attention to the end of the rows, and onto a particular blond girl. The mixture of the silky blue uniforms, the enchanted butterflies, and the wonderful scent had the entire Hogwarts population hypnotized.

The young witch had been momentarily entranced by a butterfly that had flown particularly close to her face, almost missing the three people rearing the group. Madame Maxine stood out, dressed in varying black cloths, each more magnificent than the last. The Headmistress could've walked in wearing nothing more than a sheet and still garnered all the attention for her size alone, but her ensemble certainly helped. Next to the giant woman walked a little blond girl, her short stature almost comical next to Madame Maxine. Hermione recognized the young girl's features but could not remember where she had seen them before. Finally her eyes landed on the one person responsible for her current emotional chaos; Fleur Delacour.

Fleur's grace was unmatched, the blond appeared to be floating rather than walking, head held up high and a small smile spread over her face. Hermione stopped breathing for half a second, speechless at the sight, certain that Fleur had to be the most beautiful to graze the world.

For a fleeting moment blue eyes met brown. A now familiar blush crept up the brunette's neck making Fleur smile even wider. But their moment ended almost as soon as it began.

The procession quickly reached the front of the hall and while Dumbledore graciously greeted the large woman, Professor McGonagall usher the French students to the enlarged Ravenclaw table.

The whole entrance couldn't have lasted more than five minutes, but for Hermione, it felt like hours. Having Fleur nearby stole any ability the young witch had to form a coherent thought. She focused instead on controlling her erradic breathing, completely missing the introduction of the second school and the impressive display of magic the Durmstrang students had preformed. She only resurfaced to catch a glimpse at the disintegrating image of a conjured phoenix.

"It's him, Viktor Krum," she heard Ron whispering excitedly next to Harry.

Hermione tried her mightiest to concentrate on the Headmaster's explanations and the proceeding instructions from Barty Crouch, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She missed the commotion at the age requirement and the headmaster shouting for silence, she missed the unveiling on the Goblet of Fire. The entire time she could not even muster a glance away from her lap.

"Are you aright?" asked Harry with worried green eyes, "are you not feeling well?"

She wanted to laugh at the question; it was preposterous to think she was fine. But how could she even begin to explain what had happened? Could she confide in Harry? Her brain protested at her self-imposed silence, rationalizing that Harry was her best friend, her brother in all but blood. There were very few things she kept from him, but what had transpired that afternoon was life changing. She wasn't ready. The only solution was to lie and she hated herself for even contemplating doing such thing, but there was no other way. She needed time.

"I'm fine, just a bit tired Harry," she mumbled silently apologizing.

The boy didn't seem convinced but nodded non-the less before placing a hesitant hand on top of hers, "whatever it is, you can tell me," he whispered so softly she wasn't sure he had even spoken out loud. The gesture was reassuring and frightening at the same time.

Just as she was about to reply she felt the presence a second hand, this time on her shoulder. "Miss Granger," began Professor McGonagall, "after you're finished with dinner join me in my office, they're some matters I wish to discuss."

The Professor departed as suddenly as she had arrived, leaving a nervous Hermione behind. "What do you reckon McGonagall wants?" asked Ron, turning his attention back to his meal.

Hermione was distracted by that same question, when the two second years sitting across from her reluctantly picked up their plates and moved further down the table. Before the witch had time to question, a pair of identical faces claimed the now empty spots.

"Would it have to do," started one of the twins, "with your disappearance this afternoon," added the other, "or perhaps with your visit to the hospital wing," continued the first twin, "or maybe it's because of that pretty witch that whisked you away?"

She knew that Fred and George meant no harm, their jokes and teasing were a part of who they were. Still, they were too close to her truth, a truth Hermione was desperate to keep secret. _At least until she could come to grasps with it herself._

"It's about a project," she lied for a second time that night. Her answer seemed sufficient to quiet all other questions.

Taking advantage of the momentary silence she stole a look at the Ravenclaw table in hope of at least catching Fleur's hair. To her surprise, the person responsible for her current situation was engrossed in a lively conversation with her Headmistress, nodding enthusiastically at whatever was being said, her brilliant smile caused several boys in her vicinity to openly stare.

"Blimey, they don't make them like that at Hogwarts," said Ron, he too appeared to be one of the unfortunate boys affected by Fleur's beauty.

It would've been typical for Hermione to admonish his comment. Expected even, to chastise Ron for his lack of sensitivity, but right now the witch found that she couldn't help but to wholeheartedly agree with the redhead.

"You think she'll enter the tournament?" Harry asked, following their gaze.

Harry's query caught her off guard, and brought an array of new possibilities to the front most of her mind. The bitter taste of dread invaded her mouth and the sensation of fear coated her like an icy bucket of water being poured over her head.

_Fleur was here to participate in the Tournament._

She should've paid more attention to the headmaster's speech, she vaguely recalled him mentioning something about dangers and deaths.

At the thought of "deaths" Hermione decided that she couldn't let Fleur enter the tournament. But how would she tell that to the blond? Did she have the right to make such a request? The only way she could rationalize her thoughts was simple; Fleur could not die.

Her friends, unaware of Hermione's internal monologue continued the conversation, "probably," Ginny replied, immediately putting an end to Hermione's thoughts, "but that doesn't mean she'll be chosen, remember what Dumbledore said, the champions are the best in their schools and she," she said gesturing at the Ravenclaw table, "is nothing more than a pretty bird."

Hermione paused, her eyes snapped to look at the younger girl, the bitter comment clashed harshly with Ginny's usual sweet demeanor. But what came as more of a surprise was her own anger brewing, _how dare she say those that about Fleur? She doesn't even know her!_

This time it were her words that caused her to stop, yes they were true, Ginny had never met the blond, but Hermione hadn't either until that afternoon. For all she knew, Fleur could be exactly what Ginny described.

A sudden pain on her ribs pulled her out of her musings, apparently Ginny was waiting for her support, but Hermione couldn't, her heart wouldn't allow a single ill word to leave her lips. The mystery of Fleur Delacour left her speechless.

"You shouldn't judge a book by its cover Ginny," she said softly, all of the righteous anger present earlier quickly dissipated, leaving her deflated, weak, and lightheaded.

Ginny huffed in annoyance, "Honestly, Hermione, you can't believe that French tart is the least bit intelligent enough to be chosen for the tournament."

The brunette didn't have the energy to get into an argument, _right now is not the time_, she thought, before quickly excusing herself to see professor McGonagall.

"We'll wait for you in the common room," she heard Harry calling after her.

-o-

Sooner than she'd like, Hermione found herself in the Professor's office, nursing a warm cup of tea, her ginger cat sitting faithfully at her feet.

"Your cat was waiting at the door when I arrived and refused to leave," mentioned the older woman, "do you know if he's your familiar," she asked as an afterthought.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders, unsure of the answer, " I suspect he is," she replied. Crookshanks had the particular ability to know when his mistress needed his presence.

"We'll discuss that later," she said taking a sip of her own mug, "we'll be going to the Headmaster's office in a moment."

"Excuse me, but may I ask why?" her hands shook on her lap, "have I done something wrong?" The shy, insecure girl suddenly resurfaced, "does it have to do with Fleur?" she tried again.

McGonagall let out a sigh, and pulled a small bottle from her robes, pouring what looked suspiciously like scotch in her tea, "dear girl, you have done nothing wrong," she began, getting up from her desk and taking the chair next to her student, "and this has everything to do with Miss Delacour. It's a precarious situation, as you're aware, and I need to know more in order to protect you."

"Will Fleur be there?" she asked quietly.

"Miss Delacour has been summoned, as well as her Headmistress. There are several questions needing answers regarding this _bond,"_ said the deputy, frowning at the last word.

"Do you not think it wise to accept what Fleur is offering?" asked the pupil, "I fear my parents won't accept it either."

"Miss Granger, this has nothing to do with my approval, or your parents' for that matter," her Scottish accent more pronounced, "this is about one of my lions being placed in the face of danger, I need to know everything so that I can ensure your safety," the old professor's eyes shone with affection, "it will do you well to remember what I told you earlier, you do have a family in the magical world."

Hermione fidgeted under the older woman's gaze, "I said yes," she confessed.

"I gathered as much," mused the professor, taking a lazy sip of her tea.

In this rare moment of vulnerability, Hermione's emotions were plain to see, confusion, frustration, fear; all coloring her face, "what if I change my mind? I mean several years down the road, what happens then?" she asked.

"Do not tread lightly Hermione, bonds are a serious matter. Dire repercussions will come about if broken," McGonagall said sharply, "listen to your heart child, what does it tell you?" asked the professor, her tone considerably softer.

Hermione paused and followed her mentor's instructions.

_Listen to my heart? _

_How do you do that?_

Silencing her mind was no easy feat, but after a moment she managed. It was then, in her solitude, that she sensed it. It wasn't a sound she could literally hear, but rather an image that came to mind; the French witch holding her close. She couldn't make out where they were, but the setting was irrelevant in light of the emotions she was experiencing.

She was happy, happier than she had ever been before. She felt loved and cared for. Somehow she knew that absolutely everything would be alright as long as the other woman was by her side.

A slight sense of fear and dread plagued her at the fleeting thought of denying the bond. It was if her entire being was made for Fleur and Fleur for her. Every breath she took, every heartbeat drumming in her chest matched the blond's to almost agonizing perfection.

_What does this mean?_

_You're meant to be with her_ replied a voice unlike any she had heard before.

She attempted to fight the knowledge, she fought the truth behind those words, very aware that she was fighting a losing battle. Her heart made it known that life without Fleur Delacour would be agony.

The uncertainty, the fear, the panic were still quite present when she opened her eyes, her anxieties clearly etched on her face for the world to see. Deep brown eyes met wise blue ones, the later wearing the ghost of a smile.

"What did your heart tell you Hermione?" she asked her treasured pupil.

Hermione couldn't help but to lower her eyes, away from her mentor's inquisitive stare, "she is _the _one," she finally confessed.

-o-

She felt impossibly small standing outside the Headmaster's office. The door was large and ornate, and before she could finish admiring it McGonagall pushed it open and ushered her in.

"Minerva, Miss Granger, so wonderful of you to join us!" said the headmaster from behind his desk.

Hermione noticed six chairs had replaced the usual two. The one furthest from her held the large form of a scowling Madame Maxine. Immediately next to her sat a woman Hermione hadn't seen before. But if the silvery hair and unnatural beauty were a hint, she'd guess it had to be someone related to Fleur.

Purposefully she ignored the young veela. She had to keep her wits about, which was very difficult to do with Fleur in the room. Instead she focused on the unknown guest, the resemblance between Fleur and the other woman was uncanny she was if possible even more beautiful, even more radiant. Her flawless face held the wisdom that only came with age and time.

"Miss Granger, this is Madame Apolline Delacour, Miss Delacour's mother," Dumbledore introduced.

Apolline stood for from her place next to the Beauxbatons Headmistress ignoring Hermione's extended hand opted instead for a warm embrace and soft kiss on the forehead. The sudden greeting startled Hermione; she had never experienced such affection before, not even from her own mother.

"Enchante ma petite," she whispered.

"Nice to meet you as well," choked the brunette still held tightly in Apolline's arms. Out of the corner of her she caught Fleur staring fondly at the exchange.

"Albus, shall we get on with it? Both girls have had an eventful day," said McGonagall, taking a seat next to the newly discovered nurse.

"Certainly," replied to headmaster, "we have summoned you tonight to learn a bit more about this wonderful binding magic. I took the liberty of calling Apolline, because while I'm familiar with bonds, I am not as knowledgeable when it comes to veela magic. Madame if you could."

Fleur's mother nodded at the Headmaster, "as a mother, in veela culture I am tied to my daughters," she began, "not in the way you two will be, but in a manner that I can sense their well-being or know if they were in danger," the French woman's accent was barely present unlike her daughters more pronounced one.

"This tie is severed if they meet their mate or come of age. For veelas coming-of-age is at 20 years old," the last bit was new knowledge for Hermione, "This afternoon I became rather alarmed when I couldn't sense Fleur. I was making arrangements to come immediately before your Headmaster flooed," her fear clearly still visible in her expressive blue eyes.

"After he assured me that my Fleur was indeed well did that I grasp the meaning of this," she motioned at the two girls.

"You see Miss Granger, it is rare for a veela to find her mate, and even rarer for that mate to be willing to bond. This hasn't happened since the time of your founders," she continued looking at Hermione.

"The token you received today, now hanging from your neck tells me that you have accepted," instinctively Hermione reached for the necklace.

"Fear not little one for I know you are young and this commitment is great," Hermione felt dizzy just looking at Apolline's soft smile, "Rest assured that both of you have the luxury of time."

"The necklace also symbolizes that you are under the protection of the house of Delacour," her tone took a more somber note, "I wish to make a promise to you," a slender hand encapsulated Hermione's own, "I promise protect you to the best abilities," the young brunette saw nothing but affection and sincerity in Apolline's face.

"Of course I would rather have both of you in France where I could look after you properly," she finished breaking the tension with a smile.

"Maman," protested Fleur.

The older woman ignored her daughter's protests and continued, "but I know you belong here, both of you. I suppose the only thing left to say is bienvenue à la famille."

"Madame, if I may," interrupted the otherwise silent nurse, "from what Miss Delacour and the headmaster have mentioned, this bond has several stages... "

"Mon Dieu, I will not discuss such intimate matters with an audience present," said the Frenchwoman, interrupting what the nurse had to say.

McGonagall was quick to amend the nurse's words; "I believe Madame Pomfrey meant to ask about the risks for Miss Granger until the bond is finalized."

"Pardon me, I misunderstood. Yes there are dangers and risks. The first stage will be marked by a general sense of malaise, I might recommend the girls share a room during this period or even a bed," she mentioned not even a bit of embarrassment by her suggestion.

"Generally, this is short-lived, as it ends with the first kiss shared. The second part begins then. Miss Granger's magic will attempt to protect Fleur at any cost and any ill or injury Fleur receives will be very mild, for they will manifest on Miss Granger. Considering the tournament, this will be a very dangerous time should Fleur be chosen. But this will also pass with the completion of last part of the Bond. Once the bonding is complete their magic will be extraordinary, may I recomend some specialized training before, once it happens their magic will be unpredictable if not properly trained and prepared."

Her blue eyes looked straight at the Headmaster, "if this isn't something you can provide I'll hire tutors. With the current circumstances of you-know- who, I do not dare take a chance, specially when you mentioned Miss Grangers close friendship with Harry Potter."

During this exchange Fleur shyly took Hermione's hand in hers, trying to provide some comfort, surprisingly Hermione didn't object; both needing the contact as much as the other. As soon as their skin met, all concerns and fears seemed to lessen.

"I assure you Madame Hogwarts will be able to provide such training," said Dumbledore silently staring at the interlocked hands.

"Do you have any questions?" He asked Hermione.

She shook her head. Of course she had one million questions but it wouldn't do to ask them in the full office. She needed to talk to her parents, but that could also wait. She needed to talk to Harry and Ron…

"Actually Headmaster… What do I tell Harry and Ron?" she asked.

"You are free to tell them everything, but I caution about too many knowing until the Bond is a bit more… mature," he said smiling at the girl.

"Madame Maxine?" he addressed the silent Headmistress.

"Should Fleur be chozen, would zis be a diztraction for 'er?" asked the half giant.

Apolline's gasp was loud and angry, "how dare you insinuate such thing, this is far from a curse it's a gift."

"Apolline, Fleur iz ze best in Beauxbatons, she iz ze most likely to be chozen. I just do not wish for 'er to be diztracted," said the Headmistress.

"What will distract my daughter is if you try to separate, specially so soon. Consequences could be disastrous," finished the older Delacour.

"Because of that, I am willing to extend certain privileges, in hopes that you will extend the same to Miss Granger. Miss Delacour you have permission to enter the Gryffindor door tower as you see fit, and you are free to accompany Miss Granger during meals," Madame Delacour nodded in approval.

"We will organize a training schedule for both of you," he mentioned running his fingers over his long beard, "notice that these privileges come with greater responsibilities. I am certain you will not do anything to harm the trust I have for both of you. Please do not ever hesitate in approaching any of us for help or even for just a friendly ear," he said, organizing the many scrolls on his desk.

"Miss Granger we will make arrangements to speak to your parents at the end of term, I'm sure Madame Delacour will not object in aiding us," the older veela smiled in acknowledgement, "but as Minerva wisely mentioned, it is late and you have two warm beds waiting for you. Please allow Miss Delacour to escort you back to the Gryffindor dormitory; and do share the password with her. I believe you'll find Mr. Weasley already in bed but Mr. Potter awaits your arrival! Good night," Hermione barely registered the abrupt dismissal or the fact that the adults had yet to move.

She could only focus on Fleur's warm hand guiding her out. The walk to the tower was uneventful and almost completely silent, only punctuated by the soft squeezes of their hands, and Fleur's shy smiles. Quickly the girls stood in front of the Fat Lady portrait. Their linked hands held on tighter than before.

"Would you like me to come in with you?" asked the blond girl, "are you going to tell them tonight?"

Hermione shook her head; this was something she needed to do on her own. She owed it to Harry to explain everything before introducing him to Fleur. But the blond's disappointment made her heart ache. It broke something in Hermione to see such sadness in the beautiful face.

It wasn't long after that she felt Fleur pulling away, her hand immediately tightened its grip, preventing the blond's departure, "it's going to take me some time Fleur, please understand that. But I'm not going anywhere," promised the brunette.

"This is something I have to do my own, I need to talk to Harry," she continued.

"I understand ma cherie," replied Fleur.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" asked Hermione, excited and nervous to hear the answer.

Blonde hair bobbed up and down, "you will," she replied.

"Bonne nuit 'ermione," she whispered loud enough for the brunette to hear and with one last smile turned to leave,

"Good night Fleur," Hermione whispered back.

**R&amp;R!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Heart My Soul Speak**

AN: I don't own any of the characters! Thank you for the reviews!

_O gentlemen, the time of life is short;  
To spend that shortness basely were too long  
If life did ride upon a dial's point,  
Still ending at the arrival of an hour.  
An if we live, we live to tread on kings;  
If die, brave death, when princes die with us.  
Now, for our consciences, the arms are fair  
When the intent of bearing them is just__._

King Henry IV Part I

Shakespeare

**Chapter 5**

Hermione's eyes trailed the retreating blond until she disappeared around a corner. It was a estrange feeling, to miss someone that had been with her a few seconds ago. Sighing she turned to the slumbering portrait guarding the Gryffindor tower, "Quaffle," she muttered absolutely exhausted, the previous events had drained her of the last bit of energy she had left.

It didn't matter how many times she walked into the Lion's common room, the deep red hues that adorned the walls, the roaring fireplace and even the dark haired boy slouching on the couch, were always a welcomed sight. Of the entire castle this was her favorite, the one place she could truly call home.

"Hermione!" said Harry, "you were gone for a long time."

The witch smiled at Harry's talent for noticing the obvious, "it did take longer than expected," she said sneaking a peak at her watch.

"Ron just went to bed, I tried.. but…" said Harry, casting a glare to the boy's dormitory.

"I understand Harry, I'd also understand if you wanted to go to bed as well. We can talk about this in the morning, it is very late after all," she said hoping the boy would agree.

"No, I'm fine 'mione," said Harry.

"Are you sure?" asked Hermione.

He nodded patting the seat next to him, "I'm worried about you, please tell me what happened. You seemed like a different person at dinner and when we were outside waiting for the other schools, you nearly fainted, then that French girl came and you left with her."

Harry's short rant triggered something within her, his words were the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back, and all the weight of the day's events finally fell on her small shoulders. He was right she did seem like a different person.

_I feel like a different person, _ she thought.

But where to begin? How do you tell your best friend that you met your soul mate? Harry had too many other things on his mind, things far more important than her love life, she argued.

_But he is your friend,_ said a small voice in her head.

Hermione desperately needed to confide in someone, she needed to regurgitate what she'd found out and have someone reassure her of the choices she'd made.

"I don't even how to start," she confessed, sitting next to him.

"Usually the beginning is a good place," he joked.

"I met someone today," she said shyly, "that French girl. Harry, I don't think you'll believe me when I tell you."

"We believe in magic Hermione, there aren't many things I don't believe in anymore," he said smiling.

"Her name is Fleur, Fleur Delacour," she whispered almost reverently.

He nodded at her to continue, "do you remember the veelas we saw at the World Cup?" she asked.

"The Bulgarian's mascots?" he asked unsure.

"Yes, precisely! You see Fleur is a quarter veela on her mother's side. The veela are a rather peculiar species, very secretive, there's not much written about them here at Hogwarts," she chewed on her lip, "there relay isn't much written about them anywhere," she said, digressing.

"Never the less, they have a legend of sorts; the veela mate," she said.

Her body betrayed her emotions, she was past nervous, bordering on a panic attack. She was absolutely terrified of Harry's reaction, her hands sweating and a rather spectacular blush creeping up her neck.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand. What does this legend have to do with Fleur?" he asked. He was unknowingly forcing her hand.

_I wish he wasn't so thick,_ she thought before continuing.

"It is very rare for a veela to have a mate. So rare if fact, that it hasn't happened in hundreds of years," she said, "Tonight when I met Fleur, something happened. There was a shift in… well… a shift in everything, at least for me."

"Everything took on a dream-like quality, I could sense her, or rather I could sense her magic, but then when the carriage landed my own magic shot out of my body. I couldn't breathe property, my legs were as weak as twigs. And then, when she came near, I lost all control. I had no say in what was happening, my magic accepted her before I even knew who she was. So when she asked me to go with her, it was the most natural thing to follow."

Harry listened intently, hanging onto every hurried word that left her lips, "what are you saying?" he asked.

"She took me to the hospital wing, I suppose I did faint there, I don't remember much. But later on I learned of what was happening and why."

"I'm not following Hermione," said Harry, running a hand through his hair.

"She told me that I was her mate, her soul mate," she said finally, tring her hardest to hold her tears from spilling.

The young wizard remained silent for a moment, his face shifted from confusion, to understanding, to finally settle in worry, "okay, what does it mean?"

Hermione was baffled by his reaction; she expected a flood of questions, maybe anger, maybe disgust, but she did not expect his this acceptance.

"She's a woman Harry," she said as if it were a foreign concept.

"I did notice that Hermione, I still don't understand what this means for you," he retorted.

"I'm a woman," she said.

"Something else I seemed to notice," he could not follow her train of thought.

"It means two women could be in a potential relationship," she finished, still not understanding Harry's lack of reaction.

"I don't care if Fleur's a man, woman or a hippogriff. If there is something I know is that love is love, in all it's forms, and like I said, we believe in magic Hermione, there are very few things that I could not accept. I don't care if you fancy another girl," he finished taking her hand.

Relief filled her. How could she have ever doubted Harry, "thank you," she said earnestly.

"Please don't thank me for this, just keep explaining," he said, awkwardly patting her shoulder.

Hermione spent the next hour relaying everything she knew to the young man sitting next to her. The longer she spoke, the better she felt. The more detail she went into, the more her mind could grasp, what until then, had been an abstract concept.

Harry listened intently, digesting everything she said. And while he seemed rather displeased at the dangers involved, he kept quiet for Hermione's sake.

With a sudden wave of maturity he asked, "how do you feel about this?"

That simple question managed to paralyze her, she felt the warm trickle of tears cascading down her face. She took this opportunity to be honest with herself. As her cries turned into sobs she managed to unload all her insecurities and doubts, from what her parents would think, to her fear of such commitment. And while he didn't say anything of particular substance, his presence was enough to instill her with a newfound confidence.

"Do you fancy her?" he asked somewhere in between her tears and rants.

She had to think before responding, "I don't know Harry, I feel something for Fleur, much deeper than just a temporary infatuation. I'm not certain I know what it means, or even if I'm to act on it," she confessed.

"It's ok, if I understood correctly, there are no timeframes on how long each stage is," he tried to sooth the desperate girl.

"What if my parents hate me?" she finally asked what had been plaguing her for the better part of the night, "how will Ron react? And Ginny, you heard her today! I'm so scared Harry, I've known her for less than twelve hours and I can't get her out of my mind."

"Whatever happens, I'll be there Hermione, whether it's with your parents, Ron or even Ginny," he said gently.

"Will she enter the Tournament?" he asked after a while.

"Both Madame Delacour and the Headmistress made it seem as if she were. I haven't had a chance to speak to Fleur about that, but I suppose we have the entire weekend," she said.

"The entire weekend? Hermione, the champions will be announced during the Halloween Feast, tomorrow, Dumbledore said it himself, they only have twenty-four hours to cast their names," her eyes widened at this revelation and she berated herself for missing such a pivotal part of Dumbledore's speech.

"I have to go find her then, I have to talk to her, beg, anything... She can't enter, it's too dangerous," said Hermione, quickly standing before falling back down, her head spinning.

"You, are not going anywhere right now," he said, "we'll find her tomorrow and you can tell her then."

Harry himself was about to grab his cloak and map and go in search of the blond girl. While he agreed that the tournament was too dangerous, his motives were much different than Hermione's. She wanted to protect Fleur while Harry wanted to protect Hermione.

"The sun will be up soon, you should probably get some rest, we'll sort this in the morning," said Harry.

Hermione reluctantly agreed and stood up much slower than before, "thank you for listening Harry," she embraced the boy, "McGonagall was right, I do have a family in the magical world.

After Hermione left Harry stayed in the common room for a while longer trying to process all this new information. He vowed then and there to keep her safe, whether it'd be from trolls, basilisks, mass murders, or even Fleur herself.

"I'll get you through this 'mione, like you've gotten me through it all," he promised making his way up to the boys dormitory. Tomorrow was bound to be an eventful day,

-o-

As the next day was Saturday most students would've taken the opportunity to sleep in late, but the trio was not alone in rising early. Ron eager to see who would cast their name in the goblet, while Harry and Hermione desperate to prevent Fleur from doing so.

Hermione half expected to see the blond witch waiting for her in the Gryffindor common room until she remember that she had forgotten to share the password the night before. Instead she ended following the boys down to the Great Hall.

There was a congregation of about twenty students surrounding the goblet, all with different breakfast foods in the process of consumption. "Anyone put in their name yet?" Ron asked a passing student.

"All the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang lot," replied the student, "but I haven't seen anyone from Hogwarts yet."

"Bet some of them put it in last night, after we'd all gone to bed, " said Harry, completely missing the panic in Hermione's eyes.

"All of Beauxbatons?" asked the bushy haired witch, needing clarification.

"Yes, showed up an hour ago, neat line, the lot of them and put in their names one by one, even their Headmistress," said the girl.

By then Harry realized the possible implications of what he ha heard, "you don't know she put her name in Hermione," he whispered quietly.

But his words fell on deaf ears as Hermione, once again, retreated into herself, her brilliant mind coming up with many different scenarios all of which featured Fleur dying. She was so lost in her thoughts that she missed the Weasley twins' failed attempt at fooling Dumbledore's age line and long beards it produced. It was only when Harry grabbed her by the elbow and led her to the Gryffindor table that she came back to the world.

"Relax Hermione, lets have breakfast and then we'll find her," he said casually.

The bushy haired witch nodded and followed Harry to the table, chancing a look over to the where she knew the Beauxbaton students sat. She did see a group of powder-blue robes, but Fleur was not among them, at least not the she could see.

"Harry, she's not here," said Hermione, noticing the quarter veela's absence.

"Who is not where?" asked Ron having overheard bits of their conversation.

She was not ready to explain everything to Ron. Confiding in Harry was very different than confiding in Ron, he was known for his volatile temper and jumping to conclusions.

Thankfully, Harry managed to distract the redheaded boy, striking a conversation about one topic Ron could talk about forever; Quidditch.

A moment after Ron loudly proclaimed the superiority of the Chuddley Canons did the usual chatter of breakfast die down. Students in all houses turned their attention to the lone figure entering the Hall. Unfortunately, Hermione was completely unaware of the shift, and would've stayed that way had Harry not spoken.

"She's coming over Mione," said Harry urgently.

Hermione chocked on her tea, the blush crawling up her neck was so deep, Harry feared she'd stopped breathing. In the few seconds it took for Fleur to arrive at the Gryffindor table, Hermione managed to experience the entire rainbow of human emotions.

She didn't have to turn around to know that the French witch was standing immediately behind her, she could sense her, she could smell her. She smelt of honey, lavender, and chamomile, soothing and pleasant. Hermione briefly closed her eyes, taking in the moment, and memorizing the scent. Fleur took the brunette's relaxed postured as an invitation before taking a seat in Gryffindor table.

The blond witch's sudden proximity made her hairs stand on end. Their arms brushed up against each other, their shoulders were less than a breath away. Their hips so impossibly close that wool and silk blended into one. She felt nervous and excited, it was exhilarating.

Fleur, sensing Hermione's nerves, tried to distract her by stretching a delicate pale hand in front of the brunette and placing a small pastry in front of her.

"Bon jour, 'ermione," said Fleur, leaning a little closer.

"Hello," said Hermione, still feeling flustered by the blond's presence.

So engrossed in each other, both witches failed to notice the expressions of the rest of the Gryffindors. Some looked impressed, some curious, some suspicious, others jealous. Ronald Weasley turned a particular shade of red almost matching his hair, while Harry smiled, unable to hide his amusement at the scene playing before him.

Ron cleared his throat, successfully breaking whatever spell the girls were under. He followed by making a rather estrange noise.

"Yes Ron?" asked Hermione, not caring to even look at him, sounding rather annoyed at the interruption. They boy stayed silent, his mouth opening and closing, closely resembling a fish.

"I'm Harry, Harry Potter," interrupted the dark haired wizard, wanting to save Ron from further humiliation.

"I'm Fleur Delacour," smiled the blond shaking Harry's hand, "pleasure to meet you Monsieur Potter."

"He's is Ron Weasley," said Harry motioning at his best friend, who at the moment was having a hard time forming a coherent word.

Hermione smiled gratefully at Harry's easy acceptance of the blond witch. Fleur's presence would spark rumors and new questions but right now Hermione was content sitting there and enjoying breakfast next to her mate. Any thought regarding the Tournament momentarily slipped her mind, of course they'd have to talk about it later, but right now her thoughts were quiet and her heart was content.

"You do realize that this was not what I was expecting when I asked if I was going to see you today," said Hermione leaning closer to the witch next to her.

The blond managed a soft smile and nodded, "neizer did I," she replied.

"We have to talk Fleur," said Hermione, "about this," she used her half eaten pastry to motion at them, "and about the Tournament."

"Does your mind ever stop zinking ma cherie?" asked Fleur smiling at Hermione's antics, "but we will talk, after you finish 'ere."

"We were going to see Hagrid today, would you like to join us Fleur," offered Harry.

" 'agrid?" asked Fleur.

Harry's reply was interrupted by a loud huff as Ginny took a seat across from them, "what is _she_ doing here?" she asked obviously displeased with Fleur's presence.

"Hmm Hermione?" she questioned the brunette.

Hermione began fidgeting, she hated being the center of attention but the little redhead had asked the question that no one else had been brave enough to ask.

"Give it a rest Gin," said Harry.

"No I will not," said Ginny.

"She's a friend," continued Harry.

"What? Was the male population at the Ravenclaw table not enough, that she had to come and seduce the boy-who-lived as well?" said Ginny venom lacing her words.

"Ginerva, you don't know what you're talking about," said Hermione, finally angry enough to speak. She might not be able to speak freely of the bond but she'd be damned if she let Ginny speak like that about Fleur.

"Fleur, let's go," she said leaving the table to avoid an argument, this was the second time she had left a meal in as many days, both times provoked by Ginny.

"Per'aps anozer time 'arry I'll meet zis 'agrid," said the quarter veela, following her mate out of the Great Hall.

Fleur's long legs made it an easy feat to catch up to the angry brunette. Both witches moved silently through the castle, up several staircases and through many doors until they reached Hermione's destination; the Astronomy Tower. Hermione needed to clear her head, she needed air, and she needed to get away from prying eyes and ears. She climbed a rickety wooden ladder and went through a small hatch door onto the roof of the tower, Fleur faithfully following behind.

"I'm sorry," said Hermione, unshed tears glistening in her eyes.

"You 'ave nozing to be sorry for," said the blond.

Both witches remained silent for a long time, Hermione trying to compose herself while Fleur admired the picturesque view before them. It was first time since the carriage had landed that Fleur had the opportunity to admire her surroundings. The grey of sky contrasted brightly with the the vibrant green of the grass, fog blanked the dark waters of Black lake and peered through what they could see of the Forbidden Forest. It was beautiful, Scotland in all its glory.

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything to Ginny," said Hermione taking a step closer to the railing of the tower.

Fleur reached over and pulled the brunette to her, snaking an arm around her waist, "it's forgotten ma petite, she was ze one zat was rude," she whispered.

Hermione was so close that she could feel Fleur's breath with every word she spoke. It was a ridiculously romantic moment. It would've been so easy to just lean a little and close the small gap between their lips. And she would have, had her emotions not been so muddled. She felt vulnerable and safe, happy and scared. She felt both strong and weak, she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

Her heart was calling out to her veela mate making the inevitable kiss almost a reality. Her magic rolled out in waves, threatening to not only break her resolve but also rip her skin. It would have been the perfect moment to kiss, her lips were a breath away from Fleur's, it'd be so easy to lean a little closer.

But just as the blond closed her eyes in anticipation a sudden thought popped into Hermione's mind; the Tournament. The moment ended before it had a chance to begin.

Pulling away from Fleur, she mentally prepared herself for their overdue conversation. "Did you put your name in the goblet?" she asked dreading the answer.

"No," Fleur said, her pretty face disfiguring in anger "but I fear Madame Maxine 'as."

At Fleur's admission, Hermione's body went numb, her bones lost all their strength, and she lost the battle against her tears. The images she had pictured earlier floated back into her mind; Fleur dead, Fleur hurt. But it wasn't just despair that filled her heart, there was anger too. She was angry with the Beauxbatons Headmistress for being so selfish.

Unfortunately her anger was quick to dissipate, over powered by soul crushing fear. Her chest felt seconds away from imploding. She didn't notice the moment her legs gave out, or the fact that Fleur was holding her in a crushing embrace. All she could think about was that this Tournament could potentially take Fleur away.

Right now she didn't care if the whole school found out about the bond, she didn't care what her parents would think about this "relationship," and for the first time since hearing about the bond, she was certain that had made the right decision, she was certain that Fleur was the one.

A future without Fleur Delacour was unfathomable; it hurt too much to even consider. But it was that pain, that heart shattering, mind-blowing pain that finally managed to reassure her in a way both McGonagall and Harry had failed to.

With this realization Hermione cried even more. She cried for Fleur had, she cried for how she knew her parents would react, she cried for the Tournament, she cried for ever doubting her mate, she cried for Harry, she cried for Ron. Her tears cleansed her, washing away her fears and doubts. It was liberating, to let go so completely. After a long while she emerged feeling better than she had felt in a long time. Her attention was quickly drawn to the trembling form holding her, Fleur was also crying.

Even crying Fleur was impossibly beautiful, the pain etched on her face made her look like a painting from the old masters, her agony was a moment any artist would've given anything to immortalize on canvas. It was an image Hermione would never forget.

The older witch had offered her everything, her friendship, her family, her protection, her love, even her very soul. But the only thing Hermione had done was doubt. Fleur deserved better. Apolline had been right when referring to this bond as blessing rather than a curse, but that's exactly how Hermione had treated it.

"Shhh, don't cry," begged Hermione, tightening her own arms around Fleur, "please don't cry."

"I'm so scared," confessed the blond, "I merely found you yesterday and I fear you will change your mind and leave." Hermione bit her lip, because until just a moment before, those, were her own fears.

"I'm not going anywhere," promised Hermione putting a trembling hand on Fleur's face.

"But ze Tournament," said Fleur, as if that would change Hermione's mind.

"Yes," she acknowledged, "we'll just have to make do. If you're chosen we'll sort it out then."

"I 'ave to be careful," replied Fleur, "I know zat. If I get injured so will you. I tried to stop 'er, but she left me locked in the carriage, when I managed to get out, it was already done. She zinks I will be chosen."

"I'm not concerned about myself, I'm worried about you" said Hermione, not having even considered the risk involved for herself, "I can't lose you, not now Fleur. A few scrapes and bruises won't hurt me, but if something were to happen to you I don't think I could…" she didn't have to finish the sentence, Fleur knew exactly what she meant.

"You won't," promised the blond.

They stayed tangled in each other for a long while. They talked about everything that came to mind. Fleur told her about France and her Grandmother, while Hermione confided about her fear of her parents' reaction. She talked about Harry and Ron, about Hogwarts and Hogsmade, she even brought up S.P.E.W. much to the veela's amusement.

Only when Hermione's stomach growled did they make their way down. Hermione had no idea what to call this "thing" that was breweing between them. She had never been in a relationship, and didn't know if whatever they had counted as one, but the way Fleur would shyly brush her hand against hers warmed her heart. It was long after lunch but still early for dinner, so they walked to the kitchens. After much convincing from Fleur's part, Hermione allowed the elves to provide them a small meal.

"I 'ave to back to ze carriage," said Fleur, after their impromptu lunch, "ze Madame will be upset if I don't attend the Feast with Beauxbatons."

"Will you seat with them tonight?" asked Hermione.

"Only for tonight, ma petite," said Fleur, "once ze champion of Beauxbatons is announced I'll join you," she promised.

Hermione hesitated before letting her go. She needed a distraction to pass the time. But it was only after she noticed Fleur disappear into the large carriage that she remembered, that today the trio was to visit Hagrid. Smacking herself on the forehead she ran the same path her mate had walked and instead of stopping at the carriage she kept going to Hagrid's hut.

Just as she had expected Harry and Ron were there, nursing bucket-size cups of tea, chatting with the friendly giant. When she arrived none of them questioned her whereabouts, instead Hagrid gave her own bucket-sized mug and continued talking.

The topic was far from pleasant, at least for her. They talked about the first task and how dangerous it would be. Momentarily she stiffened at the mention of danger, but was quickly pulled into trying to get Hagrid to tell them what the task was, after all, she now had an ulterior motive for finding out anything related to said Tournament.

The two hours she spent there went by quickly and before she realized the four were walking back up to the castle for the Halloween Feast.

"Are you ok?" asked Harry, hanging back with her.

"Yes," she said instantly, "I mean no, but I'm better."

**R&amp;R! **


	6. When Sorrows Come

**Heart my Soul Speak**

**AN: ****_The characters don't belong to me; I'm just borrowing them for a _****_while! Thank you to my wonderful beta Falling Thunderbolt!_**

_"When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions"_

_Hamlet_

_Shakespeare_

**Chapter 6**

When they entered the candlelit Great Hall it was almost full. The goblet of Fire had been moved: it was now standing in front of Dumbledore's empty chair at the teachers' table. Fred and George, clean-shaved again, seemed to have taken their disappointment fairly well.

"Angelina put in her name," said Fred as Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down.

"Hope it's her then," said Harry.

"So do I!" said Hermione.

The Halloween Feast seemed to take much longer than usual; perhaps because it was their second feast in two days. Like everyone else in the Great Hall—judging by the constantly craning necks, the impatient expressions on every face, the fidgeting, and the standing up to see whether Dumbledore had finished eating yet—the trio simply wanted the plates to clear, and to hear who had been selected as champions.

While the boys waited with excitement, Hermione felt dread building at the pit of her stomach. _At least Harry is safe_, she thought glancing over to the Ravenclaw table, catching a pair of blue eyes staring at her.

At long last the plates were magically cleared, eliciting a disgruntled groan from Ron. Every single witch and wizard fell silent when Dumbledore stood up, followed quickly by an anxious-looking Madame Maxine and Igor Karkaroff. Ludo Bagman smiled expectantly from his seat next to a scowling Mr. Crouch.

"Well the Goblet is almost ready to make its decision," said the Headmaster. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them to please come up to the front of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber" – he indicated a door behind the staff table – "where they will be receiving their first instructions."

He took his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it: at once, all the candles, except a select few, were extinguished, plunging them into a state of eerie semi darkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone brightly, the bluish white flames swaying to a non-existent breeze.

"Any second now," whispered George next to Hermione.

The flame inside the Goblet suddenly turned red. Sparks began to fly from it. Suddenly a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it – the whole room gasped.

Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm's length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white.

"The champion for Durmstrang," he read in a strong, clear voice, "will be Viktor Krum."

"No surprise there," yelled Ron as a storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. Viktor rose from the Slytherin table and slouched up to the staff's, quickly disappearing into the next chamber.

Hermione vaguely registered Karkaroff's praises, but her attention was entirely devoted to the beautiful Veela across the room.

Seconds after Krum disappeared behind the door the Goblet turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames.

Unlike the last piece of parchment, this one had a different shape and color. It was a familiar powder blue, shaped in the form of a delicate fan. Hermione struggled to get oxygen in her lungs; she knew that little bit of parchment in Dumbledore's hand held the name of the Beauxbatons champion.

"The champion for Beauxbatons," continued Dumbledore, his eyes widening, "is Fleur Delacour!" he said, looking directly at Hermione Granger.

"No," whispered Hermione, so quietly that only Harry heard her. It felt as if time had stopped, she could see students clapping and cheering, but she couldn't hear them. Harry's warm hand slipped into her shaking one, silently offering support.

Fleur stood gracefully from her seat amidst the Ravenclaws, her pace was slow and confident; the frown on her face made it clear that she was not pleased. As she reached the door to the side chamber, she turned and caught Harry's eyes, silently begging to watch over Hermione. His green eyes softened at the Veela's plea, and he nodded. Fleur then turned her eyes to Hermione, managing a small watery smile; the brunette tried but failed to return it. The exchange lasted five seconds, and before anyone could notice the blonde slipped into the other room.

The silence that followed was charged with excitement and anticipation. For the third time the Goblet flared red and shot out a piece of parchment.

"The Hogwarts champion," began the Headmaster, "is Cedric Diggory!"

Every single Hufflepuff jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stomping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off to the chamber behind the teachers' table. Indeed, the applause for Cedric went on for so long that it was quite some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again.

"Excellent," called Dumbledore. "We now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champion every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real—"

But Dumbledore fell silent: the Goblet of Fire flared again, turning a bright red before spitting a fourth name. Automatically, it seemed, Dumbledore reached a long hand a seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written on it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read:

_"Harry Potter"_

Hearing Harry's name seemed to bring Hermione back to reality. She saw him sitting next to her, physically trying to disappear. There was no applause. A buzzing, as though of angry bees, was starting to fill the Hall; some students were standing up to get a better look at the boy-who-lived as he sat frozen in his seat.

Harry turned to Ron and Hermione; beyond them, the entire Gryffindor table stared openly at him.

"I didn't put my name in," Harry said blankly. "You know I didn't."

Hermione's eyes softened at his words, while Ron's stare hardened.

At the head table, Professor Dumbledore had straightened up, "Harry Potter," he called again. "Harry! Up here, if you please!" The Headmaster sounded angry.

Hermione knew that Harry wasn't about to move on his own; "Go on," she whispered, giving Harry a slight push. He walked straight to Dumbledore, only to be directed to the side chamber.

Just as the back of his head disappeared through the door, Hermione sent a prayer to whatever deity that would listen, asking for protection for her best friend and her mate.

-o-

Harry went through the door and found himself in a smaller room, lined with paintings of witches and wizards. A handsome fire was roaring in the fireplace opposite him.

Viktor Krum, Cedric Diggoy, and Fleur Delacour were grouped around the fire. They looked slightly impressive silhouetted against the flames. Krum, hunched up and brooding, was leaning again the mantelpiece, slightly apart from the other two. Cedric was standing with his hands behind his back, staring into the fire. Fleur Delacour looked around when Harry walked in; there was sadness in her eyes, a sorrow that almost broke his heart.

"What is it 'Arry?" she said, "Do zey wants us back in ze 'all?"

She thought he had come to deliver a message. Harry didn't know how to explain what had happened. He just stood there, looking at the three champions. He was pulled from his thoughts by Fleur asking, "Are you aright ''Arry?"

He could see that her concern was genuine. The warm hand resting on his arm reminded him of the million times Hermione had offered comfort—it was unnerving to notice the similarities between the two girls.

Before he could answer their attention was pulled to the sound of scurrying feet behind them, and Ludo Bagman entered the room. He took Harry by the arm and led him away from the Veela.

"Extraordinary," he muttered squeezing Harry's arm. "Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen… lady," he added, approaching the fireside and approaching the other three. "May I introduce—incredible as it may seem—the fourth champion?"

Viktor Krum straightened up, his eyebrows furrowed in discontent. Cedric looked uninterested. Fleur, on the other hand, looked shocked.

"Zis cannot be Monsieur Bagman," said Fleur. "'E is too young!"

"Well… it is amazing," said Bagman rubbing his smooth chin and smiling at Harry. "But as you know the age restriction was established this year, and it was the goblet that chose him."

The door behind them open again, interrupting Bagman. A large group of people came in: Professor Dumbledore, followed closely by Mr. Crouch, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Professor McGonnagal, and Professor Snape.

Madame Maxime immediately went to Fleur's side; placing a hand of her student's shoulder she drew herself up to her full, and considerable, height. The top of her handsome head brushed the candle-filled chandelier, and her gigantic black-satin bosom swelled.

"What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?" she said hotly.

"I'd rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore," said Professor Karkaroff. "Two Hogwarts champions? I don't remember anyone telling me that he host school is allowed two champions—or have I not read the rules carefully enough?"

"C'est impossible," said Madame Maxime.

Dumbledore ignored the two angry professors, directing himself straight towards Harry. He was angry: his usually twinkling eyes were a shade darker, framed by infuriated eyebrows.

"Harry," said the headmaster, reaching the boy in three long steps.

Harry backed up against the wall. Dumbledore roughly put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Did you put your name in the goblet?"

Harry shook his head, "No."

"Did you have an older student do it?" asked Dumbledore.

"No," replied Harry.

"Are you certain?" questioned Dumbledore.

"Yes," said Harry, almost pleading.

"He has to have done it, there's no other way," said Karkaroff. "The student must willingly cast his or her name to the Goblet."

"I beg your pardon, Monsieur, zat is not true," said Fleur. "I did not cast my name in the Goblet, I did not wish to compete."

"What ever do you mean Miss Delacour?" asked McGonagall. "How was your name chosen?"

"Madame Maxime cast my name zis morning; I do not wish to compete," said Fleur, taking a few steps away from the angry giant.

"She does not know… Fleur vous serez desole!" said the headmistress.

"I will not be sorry Madame," whispered Fleur.

"This is a new development—how did you manage to do it Maxime?" asked Ludo Bagman.

"Only an extremely powerful confundus charm could fool the Goblet," said Moody stepping into the room. "How did you do it Madame? When you slipped Miss Delacour's name did you happen to drop a small slip containing the name 'Harry Potter'?"

Even though the French woman towered at least four feet over Moody, he still managed to look intimidating.

"Non I did not. Dumbly-dorr control your professor. Mademoiselle Delacour 'ad to compete, she 'ad no choice. She is ze best from Beauxbatons," said Madame Maxine.

"Mr. Crouch," called Dumbledore, "can we declare the tournament null and redraw?"

"We certainly can, if you wish all four students to lose their magic. The Goblet of Fire creates a magically binding contract. Willingly or not, all here are obligated to compete," said the bitter man. "Sanctions will be brought against Madame Maxime for forcing a pupil to enter—as far as Potter goes, I trust Dumbledore will launch a full inquiry as to what happened."

"Mon Dieu, sanctions!" gasped Madame Maxime.

"Well it is done then! We have four champions," interrupted Bagman.

"Yes, very well," agreed Dumbledore, lost in thought.

During the conversation Fleur and Harry had made their way back to the other champions, who both looked on with interest.

"'Ow is she?" Fleur whispered in Harry's ear.

"She's fine Fleur, but I think we should be worrying about ourselves right now," he whispered back.

"Very well, shall we move along now that these irregularities have been sorted?" asked Bagman. "Barty, shall we give the champions their instructions?"

"Yes," said Crouch. "Instruction, yes…the first task." He moved closer to the firelight. Close-up the man looked ill. There were deep bags beneath his eyes and a thin, papery look about his wrinkled skin.

"The first task is designed to test your daring," he told the champions, "so we are not going to tell you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard… very important…

"The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and a panel of judges.

"The champions are not permitted to ask for—or accept—help of any kind from their teachers. The champions will be armed with only their wands. Due to the time-consuming nature of this event, champions are exempt from their final exams."

Mr. Crouch turned to look at Dumbledore.

"I think that's all, is it, Albus?"

"I think so," said Dumbledore, focusing on the champions. "It has been a long day, and it will be an even longer year; I suggest all of you go to bed."

"Mademoiselle Delacour, please collect Miss Granger," whispered Dumbledore as the young made Veela to take her leave. "I do not wish to know where you go; if your walk extends beyond curfew come to my office."

It was with a nod and grateful eyes that Fleur walked in the opposite direction of her headmistress.

"You're allowing children to break curfew Albus?" asked Moody, clearly disapproving.

"Time is so precious, let them have these moments of peace before the war," replied Albus. "Let them be Alastor."

**R&amp;R!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Heart my Soul Speak**

**AN: ****_The characters don't belong to me; I'm just borrowing them for a _****_while! _**

**Chapter 7**

"Fleur, wait," called Harry chasing after the young veela. "She's in the common room, I'll get you in."

She nodded, continuing in silence until the Gryffindor tower. "Quaffle," he whispered the fat lady.

The common room was deserted. A few dying embers replaced the usual roaring fireplace. In the darkness neither noticed a figure slumped on one of the chairs, or the two bodies standing by the staircase.

"Harry?" asked a familiar voice. "Is that you mate?" In the light he could see one of the Weasley twins stepping closer, his brother following behind.

"Fred, George," greeted Harry. "Have you seen Hermione?"

"She fell asleep on that chair," said Fred, "been crying all night," added George.

Fleur stepped closer to the chair, and gasped at the sight. Pale cheeks, disheveled hair, and dried tears, "what 'appened?" she asked quietly.

"We offered to take her to the hospital wing," said George

"But she wanted to wait for you," said Fred.

"She looked a bit pale."

"So we walked her here."

"Been watching her for about an hour."

"She fell asleep ten minutes ago."

"What happened?" they asked together

"Zank you," said Fleur, running a delicate hand over her mate's face, "zank you for taking care of 'er."

"At the risk of sounding rude," said Fred, "who are you?" asked George.

"This is Fleur Delacour," said Harry, "Fleur these are Fred and George Weasley."

"We know her name Harry, we want to know who she is," said Fred sinking on the couch, "and why she swept our Mione away," continued George sitting next to his brother.

"I promise to tell you everyzing when she wakes," said Fleur, "but right now I need to be certain that she's aright."

"Do you want us to take you to the Hospital Wing?" asked Harry.

"Non, but could you summon Madame McGonagall?" asked Fleur.

Harry left without another word in search of his Head of House.

"Fleur, is it?" asked George. She nodded, looking a little confused.

"We know the password to the Headgirl dormitory, the one here is empty, if you'd like," offered one of the twins.

"Isn't her room sufficient?" she asked.

"It is if you don't mind sharing with four other girls," replied the other twin.

She pulled out her wand a muttered a quiet spell, levitating Hermione's body, "where is ze dormitory zen."

The twins smiled and lead her to the back of the common room, behind a tapestry of country scene. "Fireberto," said Fred, and a door materialized.

"Go in fleur, we'll wait here for Harry and McGonagall," the blonde nodded.

The room was more functional than impressive. A large bed sat in the middle, and that's the only thing Fleur noticed as she tucked Hermione in the soft linen sheets.

"Miss Delacour?" she heard a voice entering their new found sanctuary.

"Zis way Madame," replied the blonde.

"I do not want to know how you got in this dormitory, please keep it to yourself," said the Professor McGonagall.

"Now, please explain what happened," said McGonagall.

"I'm 'orrible at diagnostic spells, Madame could you perform them?" asked Fleur.

Minerva McGonagall began her work, waving her wand over the sleeping girl, soft bursts of color illuminating the room.

"Miss Delacour… Fleur, I normally wouldn't meddle, but seeing as one of my cubs is involved I must ask. What did you mean when you said you didn't want to compete? That you didn't enter your name?"

"Ze morning after we arrived Madame Maxime took all ze Beauxbatons students to cast zeir names in ze Goblet. All except me. I was locked in the carriage," said Fleur.

"When I escaped, ze Madame told me to prepare because I would ze chosen champion."

"You really did not wish to enter?" asked McGonagall, truly surprised.

"Madame, with ze bond, it would be too dangerous. 'Ermione is more important zan a silly tournament. I promised I would protect 'er, now it seems she will be in terrible danger," said Fleur.

"I will not speak ill of Hogwarts' guests, but Madame Maxime's procedure seems rather cruel and unbelievably unfair. Don't worry Miss Delacour, you will not be alone in this quest. Miss Granger has several useful alliances, some of which will be very beneficial to both you and Mr. Potter." She shook her head at the name, "Speaking of which, the boy can't have a peaceful year, champion at fourteen! I don't know what Albus was thinking in reinstating this tournament."

"We'll 'elp 'im Professor," said Fleur.

"For the sake of integrity I will pretend I did not hear that, but the sentiment is appreciated," she gave Feur a very rare smile. "Well, other than the expected symptoms she's perfectly healthy. If you for some reason were to fall asleep in this room, I would feel compelled to let you stay, as I don't know the complexities of your French carriage."

"Zank you Madame," said Fleur.

"Do not thank me Miss Delacour, just take care of her," said the Professor taking her leave.

"Fleur?" asked a timid voice, "can we come in?"

Fleur stood from her perch on the bed next to Hermione, "Yes, 'Arry."

"We know you didn't do it mate," said Fred.

"But ickle Ronnikins, was convinced you entered and left him out of it on purpose," added George.

"I swear I didn't do it," replied Harry hotly.

"You don't have to convince us mate, we know," said Fred.

"Do not worry 'Arry, 'e will understand," said Fleur taking one of Hermione's hands in hers.

It wasn't much later after that, that the three boys left for bed, promising to come collect them for breakfast. Fleur was exhausted, she needed to sleep, even if it was for just a few hours. _Would it be improper to sleep in the same bed as her? _She wondered. Deciding that tonight they could skip the etiquette of courting, she slipped next to the bushy haired witch and immediately fell asleep.


End file.
